35.

Sept. 1st.

On a long journey through France I had forgotten how much I enjoyed driving leisurely distances in the van. I feel some embarassment, writing this. I love seeing over the landscape, watching it change from region to region.

Rolled wheels of straw are scattered across shorn hectares. Even the golden lime of glyphosate affected fields has its own prettiness. The second cuts of hay lie drying and the gatherings of gossiping starlings punctuate the long loops of telegraph wires.

There is a noticeable road slaughter of owls, especially barn owls, on the motorways of mid France. It must be that the long grass on both sides of the route tempt the birds across rather than along.

Back in the village, the local market is noisy and busy. It has doubled in size and commerce in 3 years, partly I suspect, due to the presence of English folk on the council and in the region. They can be very demanding and have lowered the average age by a good few years. There are children of all ages rushing about, playing catch between and in and out of the stalls. I can hear French, Occitane and English voices , so far.

In the early evening I'm sowing yellow hay rattle seed throughout the meadow with the aim to thin out the grass in time and make room for more flowers. Trouble is, the rank weeds step in to the gaps pretty quick.

The seeds have set on the browning grasses and the sunlight shines through the faded stems. Small blue Scabious is flowering late and Cosmos, Cornflower and Corn Marigold are doing a dance in the light wind. Pears are carpeting the ground which becomes a rich dining table for wasps, butterflies and moths. I am seeing Swallowtails, scarce Swallow tails, all kinds of Fritillaries, Coppers, Blues and a large and handsome Great Banded Grayling, with its blackish purple upper wings and thick white bands towards the edge. They swarm on the tall Asters like extra petals. I’m in some kind of paradise and I think they are too.